Chapter Eighteen
The snow had stopped falling, leaving the world suspended in a deadly, silent white.
Sterling Thorne stood at the edge of the ditch where Cassidy’s truck lay on its roof like a crushed soda can.
The silence of the aftermath was heavier than the storm had been, a suffocating blanket that dampened every sound except the roaring of his own blood in his ears.
His breath plumed in the freezing air, but he didn’t feel the cold. He felt a heat in his chest that was hotter than any fire. It was the heat of failure.
He had promised to protect her. He had looked her in the eye in the line shack, wrapped in old wool and shared warmth, and sworn that no one would touch her again.
He had believed his own power, his money, and his will were enough to shield her from the world.
And now her truck was a ruin of twisted metal, and the snow around the driver’s side door was trampled by heavy boots.
He slid down the embankment, his Berluti leather Chelsea boots ruined in the deep drifts, stumbling over hidden rocks and roots. He didn’t care. He would have crawled over broken glass to get to her back.
He reached the truck and used his phone flashlight to look inside.
It was a chaotic tomb of debris. Coffee cups, papers, and personal items were scattered across the ceiling, which was now the floor.
The smell of leaking antifreeze and gasoline hung heavy in the air, a sweet and toxic perfume of destruction.
The airbag had deployed and was deflated now, hanging limp from the steering column like a dead lung and stained with a smear of dark crimson.
Blood.
Sterling touched the glass of the broken windshield.
The shards were sharp against his fingertips.
He felt a sickness rise in his throat, a physical nausea that made his knees weak.
The image of her broken body trapped inside this metal cage flashed through his mind, a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.
“Cassidy,” he whispered. The name was a prayer and a curse.
He pointed his phone at the ground. The drag marks were clear in the fresh powder—two deep furrows where heels had been pulled through the snow, flanked by the heavy tread of tactical boots. They led away from the wreck, up the other side of the embankment, and toward the dark tree line.
He scrambled up the slope, his hands clawing into the frozen earth, following the tracks. They led to a set of tire tracks on the old logging road. A heavy vehicle with a wide wheelbase had been parked there then had driven off, heading north toward the ridge line.
Sterling froze. A memory flashed in his mind, sharp and urgent. It was Cassidy’s voice in the dim light of the line shack, explaining the history of the land.
“My dad used to warn me about the drifts up here,” she had said. “The snow covers the old air vents. They look like solid ground, but they’re just thin crust over empty space. You step wrong, you drop three hundred feet into the dark.”
The old copper mines.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Travis was taking her to the honeycomb of unstable shafts that Cassidy had warned him about—a place where the ground itself was a weapon.
Sterling turned and sprinted back to his Mercedes. He tore the rear door open, reached under the back seat, pulled out a long, hard case, and set it on the backseat.
He flipped the latches. Inside lay a high-caliber hunting rifle, an old Winchester Model 70 in pristine condition, a remnant of his father’s time. He pulled it out and checked the action with practiced efficiency. Loaded.
He closed the case, shut the rear door, walked to the driver’s side and climbed in. He pressed the ignition button, and the engine purred to life like a mechanical beast answering his rage.
He drove like a madman with precision. He drifted around corners, the back end of the heavy G-Wagon sliding dangerously close to the drop-offs, but he didn’t slow down.
He couldn’t. Every second he wasted was a second Travis Miller had to push her toward one of those hidden drops to make it look like an accident, or let her bleed out and die alone deep in a mine shaft where no one would find her body.
Ten minutes later, he reached the mine access road. A white Dodge Ram was parked near the entrance of the old mine shaft. The roof-mounted lights were off, but the vehicle loomed in the darkness like a dormant predator.
Sterling stopped the car and killed his lights. He got out, walked over to the Dodge and put his hand on the hood. Still warm. There could still be time to save Cassidy. He went back to his Mercedes, grabbed the Winchester from the passenger seat, and a heavy tactical flashlight from the glove box.
Before Sterling stepped out into the night to begin his hunt, he made one last move.
He opened the center console and took out his satellite phone.
He made a quick call to Elias and told him what was happening, where to find him, and to alert the local authorities.
Sterling did not mince words; he was determined to stop Travis one way or another.
“Tell the Sheriff that Cassidy West has been kidnapped, and bring an ambulance. By the time they get here, they’ll probably need a large body bag. ”
Sterling walked past the Dodge Ram pointing his flashlight at it . He noticed the dent in the front bumper. The evidence of a ramming was clear. This was without a doubt an attempted murder.
The entrance to the mine was a black maw on the side of the mountain.
The air there was still and stale, carrying the scent of ancient dust. Rotting timbers framed the opening like jagged teeth ready to snap shut.
A chain-link fence had been cut open years ago and never repaired, the rusted wire curled back like peeled skin.
Sterling entered the mine shaft.
The darkness was absolute and pressed against his eyes, heavy and suffocating. The temperature dropped, but the humidity rose. The air smelled of damp earth, rust, and something metallic that made the hair on his arms stand up, like the smell of a grave.
He clicked on the flashlight. The beam cut through the gloom, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. The walls were rough-hewn rock, scarred by pickaxes from a century ago. Water dripped from the ceiling, echoing in the silence like a ticking clock.
He moved silently, placing his feet with care and rolling his weight from heel to toe to avoid crunching the loose gravel. He shed the skin of the CEO and billionaire to become a hunter tracking a wounded animal.
He heard them before he saw them.
A voice echoed down the tunnel. It was distorted by the rock walls, bouncing and warping until it sounded demonic.
“…told you not to run, Cass. Why do you always run?”
It was Travis. His voice was calm, conversational, terrifying, like the voice of a man who believed he was righteous.
Then, Sterling heard something that stopped heart: a gasp of pain and a muffled sob.
Sterling moved faster, abandoning stealth for speed. He followed the sound deep into the mountain, and the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern where miners had once blasted out the heart of the ridge.
He saw the light first. A battery-powered lantern sat on a rock, casting long, jumping shadows against the jagged walls.
Then he saw them.
Cassidy was on the ground huddled against the far wall, her arm cradled against her chest. Her face was bloodied, and a dark bruise was forming on her cheekbone. Her flannel shirt was torn at the shoulder. She looked small, broken, and terrified.
Travis stood over her pacing and holding a hunting knife in his hand. The blade glinted in the lantern light, clean and sharp.
“You made me do this,” Travis said, gesturing with the knife and slicing the air. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you have to learn. Loyalty matters, Cass.”
Sterling stepped into the light and raised the rifle, leveling the sights on Travis’s chest.
“Step away from her,” Sterling said in an icy voice. It echoed off the stone walls, filling the cavern with authority, like a command from God.
Travis became still and silent then straightened up and slowly spun around. He saw Sterling holding the gun and smiled.
Then he moved with the reflexes of a man used to violence and grabbed Cassidy, hauling her up by her hair. Cassidy screamed, a high, thin sound of agony. Travis pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arm around her throat. He pressed the knife to the soft skin under her jaw.
“Drop it!” Travis yelled. “Drop it or I open her up right here!”
Sterling froze, his finger hovering over the trigger. He had the shot and could take it, but if he missed by an inch or if Travis flinched, a bullet in the wall could destabilize the mine shaft.
He looked at Cassidy, and her eyes met his. They were wide with terror, but underneath the fear, he saw trust. She trusted him to save her.
“Let her go, Miller,” Sterling said. “This ends now.”
“You ruined everything!” Travis screamed, and spittle flew from his lips. “She was mine! She was coming back to me until you showed up with your money and your suits! You think you can buy everything? You can’t buy her!”
He pressed the knife harder. A thin line of red appeared on Cassidy’s white skin.
Sterling’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He couldn’t shoot; the risk was too high. He had to change the dynamic and become the target, so he made a choice.
He took small steps forward and slowly lowered the rifle to the ground. He kicked it away, the metal skittering across the stone floor and took another step forward.
“There,” Sterling said. He held his hands out to the sides and took one more step closer. “No gun. Just you and me.”
Travis laughed. It was a jagged, crazy sound that bounced around the cavern. “You think you can take me? You’re a suit, Thorne. You count beans. I break people for a living.”
“Let her go,” Sterling repeated. “And find out.” Travis had no idea how seriously Sterling took his Japanese Jiu Jitsu training.
Travis shoved Cassidy aside, and she fell hard, hitting the rock floor with a cry.
Travis lunged at Sterling, covering the distance in two strides. He led with the knife and slashed at Sterling’s face.
Sterling dodged, moving at a speed Travis didn’t expect. The blade missed his eye by an inch, slicing through the shoulder of his cashmere sweater and biting into the muscle beneath.
A hot line of fire flared across his deltoid. Sterling ignored it—welcomed it, even. The pain focused him.
He stepped in, grabbed Travis’ wrist, and twisted.
Travis grunted then kneed Sterling in the gut. The air left Sterling’s lungs in a whoosh, and he stumbled back, gasping.
Travis attacked again. He was a brawler who fought dirty, without an ounce of honor. He swung the knife in wide, frantic arcs, trying to gut Sterling.
Sterling blocked and parried. He used his weight and slammed his shoulder into Travis’s chest, driving him back against the rough rock wall.
Crunch.
Travis’s head hit the stone. The impact stunned him, and the knife clattered to the ground.
Now it was a brawl.
Sterling didn’t fight like a boxer; he fought like an animal protecting its mate. He grabbed Travis by the throat and squeezed, his large hands closing around the windpipe.
Travis clawed at Sterling’s face trying to gouge at his eyes. He landed a solid punch to Sterling’s jaw that made his vision swim with black spots.
Sterling shook his head, clearing the stars, then he roared and drove his fist into Travis’ stomach. Once. Twice. The sound of meat hitting meat was wet and sickening.
Travis doubled over, gasping for air. Then Sterling grabbed him by the back of his tactical vest, lifted him, and threw him across the cavern. Travis landed in the dirt and gravel. He scrambled to get up, spitting blood and teeth.
Sterling was on him before he could rise. He mounted Travis, pinning his arms with his knees, raised his fist, and brought it down hard.
Crack.
He felt Travis’s nose break under his knuckles. Blood sprayed across his hand.
“You touched her,” Sterling growled.
He hit Travis again, and the impact jarred his arm up to the shoulder.
“You broke her.”
Again. Travis’ head snapped back against the dirt.
“You made her afraid.”
Again.
Travis’s face was a ruin of blood and pulp, and his eyes were rolling. There was no more fighting back; he was gurgling.
But the rage had taken over, and Sterling couldn’t stop. The “civilized man” was gone, and the apex predator remained, eliminating a threat. He wanted to erase Travis to make sure he could never hurt anyone ever again.
Sterling raised his fist for the killing blow. He was going to end Travis by crushing his skull into the cavern floor.
“Sterling!”
The scream cut through the red haze.
“Sterling, stop!”
Cassidy had crawled over to them. She grabbed his arm and pulled on his sleeve with her good hand.
“Stop!” she sobbed. “Please! Don’t kill him!”
Sterling froze. His fist hovered in the air, dripping with Travis’s blood, and his chest heaved. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He looked at Cassidy.
She wasn’t looking at Travis. She was looking at him with her eyes filled with tears and terror. She was afraid of him and what he was becoming.
“Don’t do it,” she begged. “Don’t become him. Please, just stop.”
She wanted to save Sterling’s soul from the stain of murder. There was no thought in her mind about keeping Travis alive.
Sterling looked down at the man beneath him. Travis was unconscious, broken, and defeated.
He took a breath that shuddered in his chest then lowered his fist and unclenched his hand.
He rolled off Travis and collapsed into the dirt next to Cassidy.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heavy, ragged breathing and the drip of water from the ceiling.
Sterling turned his head and looked at Cassidy. His face was bruised, and his sweater was torn and bloody. His knuckles were split and swelling.
“Are you okay?” he rasped.
He reached out, his hand shaking uncontrollably and touched her cheek, leaving a smear of blood on her pale skin.
“I’m okay,” Cassidy whispered as she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. “We’re okay.”
Sterling closed his eyes, too. The adrenaline crashed as the pain rushed in, but he felt her warmth with her hand gripping his.
He had failed to protect her from the crash, but he hadn’t failed to save her. He had walked into the dark and brought her back.
And Travis Miller would never touch her again.